To send a message, press one
by Balanced
Summary: A sequel to Hey, Wilson.  Seven voicemails Wilson almost sent.


**To send a message, press one.**

**Author's Note: **Well, I got a couple of requests for a sequel and so here we have it. Wilson is using the lovely voicemail option "to send a message" which, for those of you who don't know, is used to send a message to someone's voicemail without having to call them. And if you haven't read _Hey, Wilson. It's me _you should, because this story might not make much sense without it.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing in this story except a cellphone and knowledge of Wilson's deep love for House.

1.

Hey, House. It's me. I got your message. I wanted to call you back, but I just couldn't. I didn't know what to say. All that stuff I said before is crap? I think about you every day? I do . . . miss you? I mean, technically I'm saying it now, I guess. But, regardless, I know that I cannot listen to your voice. If I talk to you, I know I'll cave, and go back, and . . . I just can't. Amber died. She _died_. And I did love her, more than any of my wives, or girlfriends before. The only relationship I've ever had with a woman that should have been built to last.

But I'm not sending you this message to make you feel guilty. You should know that I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault and you couldn't have done anything more than you did. To be honest, when I think about what you were willing to risk, it makes me want to forget this whole plan altogether. You're my best friend, House. And I-

2.

Hey, House. It's me. You don't know this but this is actually the second time I've tried to leave you a voicemail. I chickened out last time and deleted it before I sent it. Don't roll your eyes at me. This is harder than I thought it would be.

I did know about the article, actually, and I remember that tie. As I recall, I was actually wearing a very nondescript blue one, but this limping cripple "accidently" spilled coffee on it and then I had no choice but to wear the emergency one. So, really, you have no one to blame but yourself.

House, I'm sorry, I forgot about the show. I meant to call and cancel the tickets before they reached you, but it slipped my mind. And I'm a little surprised that you played Cupid like that. I'd have thought when the janitor told you he was going to use them to instigate a date that you'd refuse to hand them over.

I do miss you. All the time. I constantly find myself scrolling through my contacts and staring at your number. I wish that I could hear your voice. This might sound strange but talking to other people sometimes feels like I'm trying to shove a square peg through a round hole. I can't help but think about the person that has always been a good fit. And sometimes I think I'm the drug addict.

I want to go home. This-

3.

Hey, House. It's me. This is getting ridiculous. I keep creating these messages for you, and then erasing them before I send them. But then, each time your number comes up, my resistance crumbles and I make another attempt.

I agree with you about the Ryan and Taylor thing. Though, to be fair, Ryan did save his life a couple of times, so maybe they're calling it even.

I know Cuddy went over there because I'm the one that sent her. I'm sorry, but I had to know how you were doing – and make sure you weren't doing anything insane. It's not like there isn't precedent.

I know I should tell you not to wait for me – that it's fruitless, and I can't come back, but I have to add it to the list of things I just can't do. I want you to have hope because I want to have hope. I need to believe there's light at the end of the tunnel. You were right about me. I-

4.

Hey, House. It's me. This is attempt number four to stop being an idiot and actually talk to my best friend. Or, rather, talk to his voicemail. Whatever.

I've never played Resident Evil myself, but when I told my brother about it, my niece said to be careful because whatever zombies you kill will come back as these things that are called "Crimson Heads" which are, as she explained, "pretty intense." How does it make you feel to know that you're playing a game that a 12 year old has mastered?

I've been sleeping with the lights on too. Your secret is safe with-

5.

Hey, House. It's me. So far I've been completely unsuccessful in my attempts to actually leave messages on your voicemail, but I have to keep trying. I haven't told my therapist about this because I know what she'd say - that my attachment to you is unhealthy and that I shouldn't give up my life because you bailed me out of jail 20 years ago. I've tried to explain to her in the past that it has nothing to do with any sort of debt – that I'm your friend because I choose to be. Or chose to be.

Just thinking about the latter wording breaks my heart. I wish you were here, or I was there. I could have told you about those Crimson Heads. If I was brave I would have saved my last message to you and you would have known ahead of time.

I don't know how I'm supposed to be strong enough to just walk away from you. The things that have been hard were always things we tackled together. I always knew I could call you and bring over some food and you'd distract me. I may have a lot of friends but they can't replace a soul mate-

6.

Hey, House. It's me. I want you to know how hard it is for me not to dial your number. I can't stop replaying your words in my head and I honestly feel like it could explode any minute. I'm trembling and crying and I miss you. I miss you so much that I don't even know what to do. I couldn't watch Vertigo when I saw it on – you're stronger than me.

I can't stop thinking about how it would feel to bury my head in your shoulder and just forget it all. I miss my friend. I miss my girlfriend too, but God. I _miss_ my friend.

I keep telling myself that it isn't just for me. That you're better off without me, the eternal enabler. But I know that it isn't true. The only motivator is fear. If what happened to Amber happened to you, I know it would kill me. I couldn't survive it. And you have come so close before. With the infarction, and the gunman, and the overdosing, and the electrocuting yourself. You always seemed so strong, like anything could bring you back, but Amber did too. She was you in a woman's body, you said so yourself.

I love you. I love you, and I don't know how the hell to do this. I can't even think about the future. My stomach rolls over in fear every time I picture even the most mundane day without you in it. I can't lose-

7.

Hey, House. It's me. I got your message and I'm glad you're alright. I'm slightly calmer today as well. Of course, you don't know that I was a wreck when I got your previous message because once again I deleted my attempt to contact you.

I'll be back soon. I gotta turn in notice and get my things in order. I can't imagine what it will be like to face you. It's a strange situation. I'm elated at the thought of seeing you again, and tortured by images of how you're going to react to my news. Just, no matter what happens when I see you again, don't ever forget how much you've meant to me. I'll always remember everything you did – for Amber and for me. You're a good friend, and I'm sorry if you don't always get the credit you deserve.

This isn't about giving up; it's about making a decision. And I've decided that it would be easier to move away than try to find a way to say goodbye to you on your death bed. We'll get through it. Maybe not together, but we will. Somehow.

I have to believe that. Otherwise I'm screwed-


End file.
